


Towards a Distant Shore

by DuendeJunior



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Elves, F/F, Inspired by The Lord of the Rings, Light Angst, more of a Tolkien lore AU than a LOTR AU proper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 22:35:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17353886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuendeJunior/pseuds/DuendeJunior
Summary: Behind them are the pale-gray walls of Mithlond. In front of them, the sea.And today, looking at the small boat waiting at the docks, Sara falters.





	Towards a Distant Shore

**Author's Note:**

> first time writing sara and mila, and of course it had to be a nerd-ass AU. my ships/Tolkien AU = one true pairing  
> thank you [addy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna99) for beta-ing <3

It takes Sara and Mila a moon’s turn to reach the last haven of their people, always riding at night through long stretches of silent land.

Now, here they stand. Behind them loom the pale-gray walls of Mithlond, with its columns and murals carved from the rocks themselves, where once Círdan's people dwelled and welcomed the heavy-hearted and weary who longed for what was left of light in the West.

In front of them, singing its secret song, is the sea.

Sara is bold, has always been. Like her mother before her, laying traps to catch the sons of Feänor as their army fell upon Doriath; like her grandmother before them, one of the first to leave Cuiviénen behind to follow in the footsteps of the Great Hunter.

But today, looking at the small gray boat waiting at the docks, Sara falters.

She stays behind while Mila checks for the last time if they have everything needed for the journey - ropes, food, water, extra sails in case of storm. Mila is, at her very core, a dancer, her movements always precise and graceful even when doing such mundane things. Sara's heart is almost at peace knowing they're leaving the mortal shores together.

But. But, but, but.

Mila looks back and notices Sara hasn't moved.

"Sara?" she asks, coming back to her. Her chilled hands envelop Sara's warm (too warm, and sticky with sweat) ones.

Sara blinks down at her and tries to smile. "I'm here, _meleth nîn_ [1]."

"For a moment, you were not," Mila says, her clever eyes searching Sara's face for signs of discomfort. "There's still time to think about this."

There is. They could settle in this haven until the stars changed names in the world of Man, and Mila would dance to the songs Sara would write for her, and they could think.

But that's not what either of them want, and Sara knows it deep in her heart, where the songs the water sings whisper ever strong.

She takes a step forward, and falls into Mila's arms. "I'm scared," she confesses against Mila's neck. She's warm there, smelling of wind and leather, and Sara breathes deep.

Mila frees a hand, runs it through Sara's thick black hair, from the roots to the very tip and then again. "I am too," she says. "The ocean calls for me, and yet I feel a trepidation deep in my bones."

Sara nods. "I wonder if Elwing felt like that, before she threw herself in the sea" she says.

Close to her ear, Mila chuckles. "Elrond never taught us that, did he."

Sara looks at Mila, at the small smile lighting up her eyes. "No, he did not," she says, tucking an errant strand of hair behind Mila's ear. The question rattling around in her mind comes tumbling, "Do you think the old path is still open to us?"

Mila purses her lips.

"The only way to know is going."

"I know," Sara says. And that's where her fear lies. The world of Men says all roads end exactly where they began, if one cares to sail for so long, and that the West is a mortal land as all other lands. The brazen among them say it has always been like that, the old wisdom being nothing but childish tales told by nursemaids and old women.

Mila puts a hand on her cheek and looks at her, deep within her essence.

"Whatever happens, we'll still have us," she says, bolder than Sara could ever hope to be. “That much I know.” She says, and kisses Sara's forehead.

Sara closes her eyes and cradles that promise close to her chest. She thinks of her harp, stored safely in the boat along with Mila's silver bells. If she weaves it into the bones of her song, maybe Ulmo will hear.

"We'll have us," she repeats, taking Mila's hand.

And maybe that will be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> [1]: According to most sindarin online dictionaries, _my love_.


End file.
